


Statue

by black_hat_with_bells



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-14
Updated: 2011-04-14
Packaged: 2017-10-18 02:29:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/184004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_hat_with_bells/pseuds/black_hat_with_bells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sylar is imprisoned and fades.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Statue

**Author's Note:**

> written for anon rare pair meme for -Sylar/The Haitian

The man’s face never flickered.

He never showed a shred of emotion except for the occasional flicker of disgust. Even that disgust was colorless and bland. Sylar hated bland. He hated that man more than he had every hated anyone before.

Bennet, the other man who had put him in this cage, would think differently. He’d believe all Sylar’s focus was on him but really he was almost too easy.

He’d react. The Haitian was stone, just like those stone statues from the church. They looked past him even when he prayed…and preyed.

Nothing got their attention.

When they were together, everything that made him him went away but it even went further than that. He’d hit the windows with his fist and leer at him, and the Haitian simply stared at him, his arms crossed. Sometimes he wouldn’t even look at him at all.

It was like he was dead. Like he was nothing.

Sylar hated that man.

***

Sylar wandered near the glass of the cell, looking at him.

The Haitian didn’t look at him.

“It’s just the two of us…again. Funny how that works.”

Silence. “Something tells me you’re stalking me. You’re not my type.”

Silence.

“Or maybe you’re just a trained dog. Is that what you are? Does Bennet give you…rewards? On your knees a lot? No wonder you always wear pants…”

Nothing.

“What’s so special about Bennet?” he spat, hitting the glass and not noticing the red drops starting to dot the surface.

He suddenly felt like falling apart. He wanted to yell and scream and even ask him what he’d have to do—who he’d have to kill—to get a little attention. But Sylar couldn’t, he wouldn’t.

He smirked and slipped off his shirt. The Haitian’s eyes didn’t even flicker. He pushed his hand down past the band of his pants and wrapped a hand around his cock. Just to see if he’d look.

Nothing.

Sylar let out a yell of rage and hit the glass again. The Haitian looked away, sitting in the chair, clearly bored. “YOU SON OF A BITCH, YOU PIECE OF -.”

And on he went, completely out of control. Being completely predictable and generic. He couldn’t breathe. He hated being out of control. This wasn’t him, but he couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand it.

He hit himself in the chest. Hard. It wasn’t enough.

He grabbed his shirt again and wrapped it around his neck, pulling the material taut. Not a flicker, even as his eyes turned red.

Sylar collapsed in the floor but kept that knot tightly wound. If he couldn’t get this man’s attention, if he couldn’t stop feeling this, he’d stop feeling. He’d claw his way out of this. He couldn’t go back to what he was: he couldn’t go back to being Gabriel, not after he had gotten the taste.

The knot was undone at the last minute, and there was a warm hand on his back. Sylar could barely believe it, and he started to smirk, to laugh out his cough. “S, so you do car-.”

A string was placed by his head, and the Haitian nodded to it. Sylar got it. The shirt was still giving him too much air. The string would do better. It wasn’t malicious. That would involve caring. It was just a fact.

He was still for a moment, and then everything in his mind exploded in white panic.

Sylar grabbed for the Haitian, and pushed his lips against his, desperately shoving his tongue past the other man’s lips. That would do it; it had to work. Sylar tried to taste him, tried to define him, tried to understand him.

There was something but it was too vast and too calm. The Haitian pushed him away, and due to the drugs, Sylar fell backwards, too weak to stand. The Haitian didn’t even bother to wipe his mouth.

He just walked out.

“I’ll do anything,” Sylar said, pouncing at the glass and pressing his palms against it. He hated how he sounded but he was so empty. “I’ll do anything. I’ll stop killing. Do you want me to stop? Would that do it?”

The Haitian sat down again and folded his hands.

“I’LL KILL YOU. I’LL MAKE A RUIN OF YOUR LIFE. I’LL FIND ANYONE YOU CARE ABOUT AND SEND YOU THEIR HEARTS..no, I didn’t mean that. I mean, I did, but…”

He was confused and he held his head. It hurt so badly. “I’ll do anything to you. For you. Let you do anything. Just…look at me.”

The stone statue sat, unmoved.

Sylar slid to the floor, the life taken from him. He lay there the rest of the day, numb and staring off into space, almost catatonic.

They thought it was the drugs.


End file.
